


That Which We Are

by Bluebellstar



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25570051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: The obligatory series 2 AU.In the wake of the revelations of the end of series one, France is navigating uncertain waters. Cardinal Richelieu has fallen out of favour, and the psychotic Comte de Rochefort has stepped in to fill his role.With France itself at stake, old enemies must band together to restore what once was, or face the destruction and inevitable fallout of war.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires), Athos | Comte de la Fère/Milady Clarick de Winter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little while ago I promised a series two au fic on Tumblr, and here it is. Chapter one of my undoubtedly wholly unoriginal take on a rewrite.
> 
> Tags will be added as I update.
> 
> Please enjoy!

For all his faults - and perhaps they were as legion as rumour would have him believe - Richelieu was a practical man. Neither cruel nor overly good, but simply as practical as his ambitions would have him be. With a fickle king, and a queen out for his blood, he could afford to be little else. It had seemed the perfect compromise. Step away from his responsibilities, keep his titles, and continue to serve France in the only way he could. To live and be the villain rather than die and in death reclaim some fragments of the King's affection. Louis and his new parade of advisors (never staying longer than it took to drive the country further into chaos) could ruin France, and Armand would stay silent, accept the blame, and keep his head. He hadn't appreciated it before, the Queen was a shrewd politician. She had ruined his career with a few simple words uttered when the King was at his most agreeable. That Armand remained in Paris at all instead of once again facing exile in Aquitaine was a feat that had cost almost the last dregs of his political influence.

That particular battle, Armand was amazed to reflect, was months ago now. In that time, the Dauphin had been born and christened (fortunately, Richelieu was still in enough grace that he had not been denied his place at the ceremony, despite the shambolic handling of the entire affair), Rochefort had returned (and why the cockroach hadn't had the decency and fellow feeling to die in that Spanish prison was a mystery Armand intended to solve), de Foix had come back from the dead and 'died' again, and the Musketeers had continued to plumb new depths of idiocy with every passing day.

At least with Rochefort exerting his influence over their malleable King, and the Musketeers running riot throughout Paris, Richelieu had been comforted that things could not get any worse. How wrong he was.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Richelieu was in his palace when he heard. That idiotic Musketeer! What was he thinking! Antagonising the King and Rochefort like that. Didn't he know? Hadn't he realised? Richelieu wasn't around to avert his disasters any longer. The Queen and those blasted Musketeers had seen to that. He had tried, at first, stepping in to soothe the ruffled feathers from Treville's characteristic bluntness, or reminding certain council members of the indiscretions that they could ill afford to become public. But Jean's inability to play politics had reached the point where it was greater than the waning influence Richelieu maintained. He couldn't spend every moment protecting that infuriating Gascon - not if he was to have any chance of clawing his way out of political exile. It was a delicate dance, and Richelieu was both out of practice and losing ground. He no longer believed he could stop whatever plans Rochefort had for the Captain from coming to fruition.

Richelieu put down the latest in his line of tedious clerical correspondence, unread, and rubbed his temples tiredly. "Perales is dead? Under Musketeer protection?" Jussac twitched as if resisting the urge to look away. He knew Richelieu did not approve of that.

"Under Captain Treville's."

Richelieu looked up sharply, voice dangerously soft. "What?" Treville was never careless, often reckless (and stubborn, and foolish, and handsome- and Richelieu cut that thought off before it took him back to memories he had sworn never to remember), but he was never careless. The man was the consummate soldier, never careless with the lives of people under his protection. He forced back the tirade he longed to set loose and frowned. Something did not seem to ring true about this. "How?"

This time, Jussac couldn't prevent his glance towards his polished boots. "From the little we can glean, it seems that the Captain was sent a forgery. Orders to move Perales before the preparations had been made."

The connection fired in Armand's brain and he was speaking before he had processed it. "I don't care how you do it, nor how much it will displease the King, bring me Milady. Now."

Cahusac stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Your Eminence..."

Richelieu flicked his tired eyes between Cahusac and Jussac (both of whom were looking as guilty as the time they'd lost to the Musketeers - Treville had been smug about that one for weeks), and sighed. "What news could possibly be worse than courting war with Spain?"

Cahusac muttered something about fetching Milady and fled. For a man nearly as reckless as the Musketeers, Cahusac had always maintained an admirable sense of self-preservation.

Jussac cleared his throat, apparently having finished the sort of mental pep talk that his guards would once have used to prepare to face him after losing a duel (again) with the Musketeers.

"Our contacts at the Louvre-"

"Boisrenard?" Richelieu interrupted, not in the mood for dancing around information. That way his headaches lay.

"Boisrenard" Jussac confirmed easily. "He reports that the King just signed the order. Rochefort suggested that the Musketeers be punished. They're stripping the Captain of his commission."

"Can Her Majesty not intercede on his behalf?" Richelieu knew the chances were slim, but no more unlikely than the circumstances they currently found themselves in.

"Her Majesty no longer enjoys the influence she once did" Jussac replied tactfully. Richelieu understood his meaning immediately. It seemed the Queen's influence had lived little longer than it took to rid France of Richelieu and bring the Dauphin into the world. Richelieu would sympathise, but for the use of the Queen's influence. Sadly, that was neither here nor there. Treville would lose his commission, the King's favour, and - crucially - access to the King as advisor and guardian.

Richelieu paced to the window, pushing down the anger seething under his skin. Five years. Five years he had pleaded, demanded, cajoled, threatened - but to no avail. No calamitous disaster the Musketeers had orchestrated (Richelieu had lost count after the first year) had ever merited the slightest rebuke from the King (aside from the brief and gloriously well-executed moment where Athos had been scheduled for execution). Then again, Richelieu was willing to concede that he had never been so foolish as to try and turn his frustrations on the Captain. Treville was the only decent member of that infernal regiment. France could not survive for long in his absence.

For France's sake, if nothing else, Richelieu could not sit back and let this happen. He would be going in blind, but he had little enough to lose, and comparatively much to gain. Richelieu turned away from the spectacular view of Paris his office afforded him, resolved. Jussac stood taller, responding to Richelieu's renewed sense of purpose. "Ready my carriage. I have an appointment with the King."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

The Louvre was as it had ever been; opulent, extravagantly beautiful, and a den of vipers. Richelieu paid it all absolutely no mind, striding through the corridors to the King's apartments as if his place at Court had never been in doubt at all. He saw his former guards (traitors all of them) stiffen at his approach. Distrust bore at him from all sides - the preening fools of Court, Rochefort's Guards, the thrice-damned Musketeers - but he refused to let anything so trivial hinder him in the slightest. His tread was light, the fabric of his cloak whispering its manifold secrets across the polished floors of the Louvre. So the King was seeing no one. No matter. Louis would see him.

Richelieu's timing was impeccable. Milady was gone - he hoped safely in Cahusac's charge, but Richelieu would not hold his breath. Rochefort was undoubtedly away gloating about his victory over the only remaining truly good man in all of Paris. Louis was available, and surprised enough at Richelieu's spontaneous visit that he agreed to see him. If only getting the stubborn monarch to listen could have been so easy. Louis had staunchly refused to listen to a single one of Richelieu's persuasive arguments. He cared not for the blood that had been spilled in his defence ("it's his job, Cardinal"), nor for the years of loyal and devoted service both on campaign and in the more delicate affairs that occurred within Paris. If Richelieu did not know that the Captain was not capable of it, he would have suspected that he had offended the King deeply.

Richelieu himself would soon give way to offence, if he could not get his uncharacteristic frustration under control. Louis remained obstinately deaf to Richelieu's arguments.

"Twenty years of loyal service! Your Majesty-"

"Enough, Cardinal" Rochefort cut in, voice far too smooth. Silken. He had planned this. Richelieu had suspected that going in. "The King has made his decision. After all, his judgement is infallible." His cruel eyes glittered maliciously. "And you wouldn't want anyone to assume that you were too close to Treville." Richelieu gave him the attention he was due - none - and kept his gaze on Louis, who looked gratifyingly conflicted. It reminded him of another situation years before, when Louis had been forced to choose between Richelieu and his own mother. Unfortunately, Richelieu realised that he was currently playing the role of Marie de Medici in this comparison.

Rochefort slithered further into the room, every inch the snake Richelieu was portrayed as. "Whose side are you on, Cardinal? The traitor's or His Majesty's?"

"Make your choice, Cardinal" Louis rasped, grasping the line Rochefort had cast out to him. His mother's words. In a better time, Richelieu might have appreciated the irony. Given the present situation, all it achieved was to twist the knife deeper into the blacked muscle that masqueraded as his heart.

"I remain, as ever, your humble servant, Your Majesty" Richelieu uttered, staring down at the shattered remants of his influence. "But I beg Your Majesty for lenience. As First Minister, I bear as much blame for this tragedy as Captain Treville."

Louis looked almost heartbroken at that. "Armand" he began, voice wavering. For a brief moment, he was the warm-hearted child Richelieu missed so fondly. Rochefort cleared his throat, a metaphorical whip crack ending the moment. "Cardinal" Louis began again, stronger. His gaze flickered to Rochefort, but inexplicably he straightened. "Comte, leave us." Rochefort looked to object, but he bowed deeply and strode from the room, leaving Richelieu alone with the King once more.

"Armand, please do not make this harder on me" Louis asked, that familiar note of pleading hiding in his voice. "The Spanish are demanding retribution. I don't want-" Louis broke off, lost. Poor Louis. He did not want to have to include Richelieu in this (he seemed to have no such compunctions about abandoning Treville to his fate), but he could not see any way out of the mess that Perales' death had caused. Spain had to be appeased, else war would surely follow - Spanish Queen or no.

Richelieu breathed in deeply, steeling himself for what he had to do. On his terms. He would not give Rochefort the satisfaction. Live to fight another day. The practical maxim. "Your Majesty needs some time to consider. I will temporarily remove myself from public office. Your Council is set to meet in a few weeks, the matter can be decided there." He smiled at Louis' horror, placed the ring in his Kings hand, and crossed his forehead. "Take this time, Sire. Forgive." He bowed as deeply as he could, cape sweeping dramatically around him, then swept from the chamber, clutching desperately to the remaining threads of his faith in the King. All would be well. It had to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for reading and responding to this fic - I wasn't sure that anyone would, so thank you all.
> 
> Where am I going with this? I have no idea, but I'm enjoying finding out. Plans and me don't get along very well.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

All was not well. All was exceedingly not well. The events in Paris were all going against Richelieu and his plans. Milady was safely protected from his questions by her position as the King's new mistress, Cahusac had nearly been thrown in the Chatelaine for trying to intercept her. Richelieu, for all his network of spies, was feeling more and more out of touch with every passing minute. He knew that the Spanish ambassador Perales was meeting in secret with Rochefort, but he didn't know why (and his best guesses led to places Richelieu would rather not voyage, not of he was to have any hope of enduring this storm). He knew that the best and brightest of the Musketeers - Treville's insufferable Inseparables - had vanished from Paris, taking Treville with them; but once again, Richelieu did not know why. Even going near the Garrison to find out was out of the question - Red Guards and Musketeers did not mix, especially when the Musketeer Captain had been so cruelly stripped of his position. Some few ill-informed soldiers had even accused him of being the one to suggest the unproportionate responce. The thought of Richelieu going himself was nothing short of laughable - the Musketeers would sooner shoot him than admit him into their confidences. And that led to another thing Richelieu did not know - how that stubborn, reckless Gascon Captain was coping with his demotion. With no other evidence other than how he had been during that brief interlude Marie de Medici had him imprisoned, Richelieu could speculate that Treville was not soldiering on through it as he might have hoped. In the privacy of his thoughts, Richelieu could admit that it was a pity. Now more than ever, he needed his old partner back at his side - although if it was for Paris' sake or his own, he could not tell. 

No, perhaps that was not the truth. He did know - he needed Treville's unwavering strength for his own sake as much as he needed it for France. Unfortunately, he had severed all ties with that part of their lives when he had sent Milady to hire Gallagher - but perhaps even that was for the best.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

In a circumstance uncomfortably reminiscent of the week before, the dusty red hair of Jussac appeared in Richelieu's field of vision. He snapped his gaze upwards, taking a few deep breaths to quell the irritation that seemed permanently a part of him.

"I trust you have some information to impart, Jussac?" Richelieu invited, raising an imperious eyebrow at the captain of his guards.

"Rochefort continues his investigations in your old office, of the council archives" Jussac reported crisply, posture ramrod straight and uniform impeccable. "Boisrenard reports that Rochefort has met with Perales on another two occasions, both barely lasting ten minutes." Jussac took a slightly sharp breath. "Boisrenard also reports that Rochefort has a habit of dropping out of sight several times a month. As yet, Your Eminence, there is no information to suggest why that is, nor where he is going to on those evenings."

"Another unanswered question." That was all he needed.

"Your Eminence?" Jussac frowned, something dangerously akin to concern flashing through his eyes. Richelieu just shook his head, dismissing both Jussac's question and his concern. Something here did not sit right with him, but his brain refused to illuminate the problem, and he didn't have nearly enough information to even start to speculate. It would be enough to drive a lesser man to madness.

"Find out where Rochefort goes on those evenings" Richelieu ordered, focusing his anger on the incompetence of his own operatives. He was the spymaster of France - incomperence like this was going to get him killed. "And find out why Perales meets with Rochefort!"

Jussac visibly bit back whatever retort he wished to utter. Richelieu's orders were met with a bow and a somewhat chilly nod as Jussac left the room. Even the close of the door seemed to rebuke him for his temper.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

"Comte de Rochefort wishes to see you, Your Eminence" Cahusac announced, the troubled look in his eyes the only break in his professional demeanour. Richelieu frowned and gathered up another tedious clerical correspondence, preparing to feign immersion in the dry text.

"Send him in."

The clipped sounds of Rochefort's boots on the polished floors echoed through the large chamber, but Richelieu kept his gaze fixed on the letters swimming in front of his vision.

"I come with a message from his Majesty" Rochefort began without preamble. Richelieu disregarded his instant flicker of unease (self-preservation had regrettably never been something he had cared for), and continued pretending to read his letter. He refused to be worried. All would still be well: Louis was impulsive but devoted to him in his own way, however persuasive Rochefort might be, the handful of days since the Captain's demotion would not have been enough to turn Louis against him so completely.

Richelieu took a few long minutes to compose himself properly - a good spymaster and politician never showed his true feelings, and Richelieu was one of the best - then raised an impassive face to Rochefort. He wished that he could say the Comte's sartorial choices had improved since last they met, but it was not to be. The mess of dark green and silver thread could only have been an attempt at pleasing the King, for there was simply no other excuse for appearing in civilised company in such an eyesore. Still, he inclined his head and sat tall in his chair, choosing to ignore the implicit intimidation of Rochefort's hand at his sword. After becoming to the explosive anger of a certain Gascon, Rochefort was about as intimidating as Richelieu's beloved Soumise.

"Comte" he greeted, tone as bland as at any of the meaningless court events. "To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit?"

A muscle twitched in Rochefort's jaw, the only sign that Richelieu had succeeded in irritating the madman. "The King has sent me with a message for you, Cardinal" Rochefort smirked, the expression losing none of the superiority it had always held.

"Has he?" Richelieu hummed, steepling his fingers as if in curiosity. "What has the King to say?"

"The King requests, that in the present period of political turmoil, you not make any further unannounced visits to the Louvre." Rochefort's smirk widened with satisfaction. "His Majesty is still feeling the ill affects of so much betrayal in such a short time. He does not need to be upset unduly."

"Of course" Richelieu agreed placidly. " Tell His Majesty that I will not visit unless he has need of me. Spiritual advice being so far from your own talents."

Rochefort gritted his teeth and inclined his head, making to leave the office. At the last second, he turned and stepped closer to Richelieu's desk. "Take care, Your Eminence" Rochefort warned, the spark in his eyes just short of insane. "Powerful men have equally powerful enemies. The King does worry so."

"As the attempts on my life have proven to me" Richelieu replied, keeping his tone just short of outright boredom. "But I thank you for your concern."

Rochefort gave a bow, the mockery in it not lost on Richelieu. "Good day, Cardinal."

"Comte."

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Refusing to be unsettled by such a blatant attempt at threatening him, Richelieu slumped back in his chair, feeling the pulsing of his headache approach. He was getting far too old to be able to achieve the miraculous comebacks of his youth. It was just a waiting game now. He had sent his chess pieces out into battle, and it was beginning to look like he was playing with an incomplete set. With no Treville to bicker with until they worked out a solution, Richelieu did the only thing he still couldn't - he descended to his private chapel and he prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Next chapter will probably feature some Treville and Musketeers because so far they've definitely been lacking.
> 
> Until next time...
> 
> Comments and/or kudos are very much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
